Feathers and Flame // Dabi x Reader x Hawks

49: Yours

*some manga spoilers in this chapter*

Some might call hope elusive—difficult to catch but possible to possess. You always believed it to be more of a tease. It flits close in the darkest of hours, igniting foolish hearts before it vanishes again, leaving behind only the bitter taste of something once sweet.

Star and Stripe fell to Shigaraki.

The foreign hero sent as a saviour to the bleak, tired city was killed by the creature that had once been a man.

This was not about playing heroes and villains anymore. It was life or death. Kill or be killed.

And so hope flitted away.

Just last night you were drunk on a rooftop with Hawks and not a single care in the world. Now, you were facing down an inevitable battle against those you once knew. There would be no time for hesitation. You would face them as their adversary, and you would kill them as their friend.

And Hawks—

He would fight, too.

What if—

You purged that thought from your brain the second it entered. Maybe hope was a flirt, but you would not let it escape your clutches.

He kissed you.

Maybe he expected you to pretend it was nothing but a drunken lapse in judgment, but you couldn't. His touch was branded on your skin and you had been aching ever since he took it away.

You wanted him.

But no, more than that, you needed him.

And it terrified you.

It scared you more than anything, yes, but you weren't afraid of falling anymore. If you hit the ground and shattered, so be it—at least you could admire the view.

The lights were on in Hawks' apartment, and the balcony doors were open. Two red curtains on either side of the doors billowed as the breeze swept past them, beckoning you inside. Who were you to refuse?

Hawks was leaning against his island countertop when you entered, a bottle of amber liquid and a single shot glass before him.

He watched you approach wordlessly. The dark, indecipherable gaze he pinned you with belonged to the monster that lurked beneath his pretty, golden skin. The weight of it made you shiver, but was that anxiety or excitement you were feeling?

"Dove," Hawks greeted finally. His voice was deeper. Rougher. "You heard what happened. I'm not—"

You cut him off, heart thundering. "Pour me a drink."

He studied you, his sharp gaze flicking from your face to the centre of your chest. Was he remembering where his hands had been? It lingered there for a beat longer than necessary, and then he turned and fetched a second shot glass from the drawer behind him, setting it next to his.

You watched him pour.

As he did, you considered him. The silken waves of his hair were unruly as if he was dragging his fingers through them in frustration. His jaw was tense and his gaze sharp. The white t-shirt he wore clung to him, as did the grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His crimson wings were large enough now that they peaked out from above his shoulders and from the sides of his biceps.

And now he was watching you watch him.

Hawks inclined his head towards the filled shot glass, and you took a tentative step closer, closing your fingers around the tiny rim. He did the same.